The Art of Seduction
by Snap
Summary: It was the art of seduction. And Deacon Frost was a fine artist... One-shot for now .


Disclaimer—I do not own anything that has to do with the Blade Trilogy whatsoever. There, that should cover all my grounds, I think.

A/N: As of right now this is only a one-shot. If you guys like it enough let me know and I can change that…

The Art of Seduction

He didn't own the club, but he went there every so often. It was usually smoky and dim, filled with thrumming, radiant techno. The place was always ripe with enough humans to send his senses into a frenzy. And he always, _always_ found one to feed on. A woman, too. He preferred it that way.

It was the art of seduction. And Deacon Frost was a fine artist. He would set his sights on one within a few moments of stepping through the door and watch her from a dusky corner of the room. When the time was right, when he was hungry enough to rip her throat open right there, he would saunter up to her on the dance floor. His hands would grace over her body as they both moved to the music and she would lean into him, always lean into him. He would be able to smell her blood through her heavy perfume and his fangs would grow sharp and long, ready for the perfect kill…

"Hey, Deac? Deac?"

Deacon snapped out of his daydream and slowly swiveled his head in Quinn's direction. Quinn had been talking for a really, really long time and he had finally zoned out. Mercury sat between the two.

"What's up with you, man? You're just, like, sitting there. Not find any good food yet?" The redhead chuckled.

Deacon, of course, remained stoic and turned his head back to the pulsating crowd in front of them. He slid a cigarette in between his lips and tilted his head to light it. "Yeah, something like that." Truth of the matter was Deacon Frost was bored with the place. He was half tempted to just leave and make prey out of someone out on the streets. The women here were gullible and easy and the men were fucking morons. No one ever put up a fight, a real fight. Perhaps that was what he was longing for. He hadn't spotted anyone he'd want to feast on that night. They were all meaningless. For a moment, he considered that maybe he just set his standards too high. The thought quickly passed. After all, they are only _cattle_.

As he took the first drag of his cigarette, an undeniable smell came his way. Within the rank odor of sweating, moving bodies, the smoke, and the insane amounts of alcohol, he inhaled something earthy and distinctly feminine. It was unique and he couldn't resist turning his head to the entrance of the club.

Four women had entered the club and were talking amongst themselves at the doorway. The first two high-tailed to the bar, which he found vaguely distasteful and unattractive. The third searched for the 'restroom' sign and then meandered off in that direction, probably to shoot up. She was carrying a large black purse. And the fourth stood there by herself for a moment, scanning the room. She was probably searching for a place to sit.

Deacon blatantly stared at her as he took another drag of his cigarette. He leaned out of the shadows just as her eyes wandered over him. She stopped as their eyes locked. A shiver went down her spine and he saw her throat bob slightly as she gulped. He continued to stare at her neck hungrily before his eyes drifted down the rest of her slender, pale frame, past her deep, shimmery green top. She would be _perfect_. He leaned back into the shadows and grinned viciously. He'd found his dinner.

He apparently made her nervous because she stopped looking for a place to sit on his side of the room. Instead, she found a tall table with four chairs near the bar on the opposite side. Deacon stared at her legs and slinky black heels as she sat down. She rested her hand on her chin and her eyes floated around the room lazily, watching the crowd move with the music. She was waiting. Probably for her friends.

As he continued to stare at her legs, he felt someone staring back. Deacon and the girl found themselves looking at one another once again. His frozen, dead blue eyes flashed. With what, the girl wasn't sure. She eyed him warily and a smirk crossed his features. He usually wasn't into brunettes.

Her two friends that were at the bar found the table and came back with several drinks. The girl Deacon had been eyeing snatched a glass from one of them and downed the amber liquid quickly. He watched as her mouth moved. 'C'mon. Let's dance!' The girls disappeared into the crowd.

Deacon looked over at Mercury and Quinn, grinning like a fool. "I'll be back." The two watched him get up from the couch and head into the mass.

"What the hell, man? Where's he goin'?"

Mercury understood and giggled. "He's found himself a tasty bite to eat."

Deacon grimaced as he made his way through the crowd. As a vampire he had a heightened sense of smell and all these humans surrounding him, with their perfumes and colognes and sweat, made his nose burn. But he found her scent, and it was all her own. It was an outdoorsy, fresh smell. He couldn't tell if it was actually _her_ he was smelling or just her perfume.

But he found her in the middle of the floor with her friends nearby. One of them had already found a male companion. But this girl, _his girl_, was dancing alone. Her body moved fluidly with the loud beat and her eyes were closed. It was as if she was channeling out the world around her, focusing only on the music and her body.

He circled her once as the song ended and another, faster one began. It was one that was familiar to him. It's been played all too often in his own clubs.

He was like a lion stalking his unknowing prey. He came up behind her and didn't move for a moment. He smiled as he realized that her smell had nothing to do with her perfume. It was just… her. It was in her dark hair, on her skin. He found that strangely attractive.

He placed his left hand over her stomach and he gently pressed his body up against her. She stiffened immediately and looked back at him with a mixture of irritation and confusion. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He slowly began to move his body and he bent his head down to whisper in her ear. His lips caressed her ear for a brief second and a jolt ran through her. "Relax," Deacon said softly, seductively, "I just want to dance."

Just as the words came out of his mouth, he felt someone watching him. He glanced around the crowd, looking for any suspicious eyes and found nothing. He even took a brief moment to look back at the bar. Still, nothing. A sense of irritation surged through his body. He didn't want anyone fucking up his dinner. No hunters, no Blade, no anything. He wanted to enjoy this, and he knew he would.

His attention was pulled back to the girl in front of him as he felt her body loosen up a little. She began to move with him. He ran his other hand down her right arm and she leaned into him slightly.

Deacon and this girl swayed together to the music, their bodies fused together by the rhythm. His hands caressed her stomach and shoulders as if the two of them were having an intimate moment rather than in a club surrounded by dozens of other people. He didn't care, though. And, apparently, neither did she because she never said a word. Nobody else around them mattered either. In fact, for this brief moment in time, they didn't even exist. It was just Deacon and her, losing control.

And they were enjoying themselves.

But the pair of eyes that were glued to them seemed less than thrilled.

Deacon ran his lips past her shoulder and eyed her neck and collar bone like they were the Holy Grail. He was excited to drain her dry, even though a small part of him wondered what she would be like living a life like his. As a vampire. He unknowingly ran his tongue over one of his fangs. He could _smell_ her blood pumping through her veins and hear her heart beating. The sensation was spellbinding and even erotic.

"…Frost…"

Deacon was so close to ending this little tirade with the girl when he heard his name. The deep voice echoed but no one else seemed to hear it. His head shot up and looked around and his body froze. The girl noticed his distraction and glanced up at him. Her eyebrows were furrowed with confusion. She saw Deacon's eyes widen as he looked to the bar. "What is it?"

"Fuck. Blade." Deacon pushed the girl away from him and bolted off into the crowd behind them. She stumbled forward and then turned around in shock, looking for him. He was gone.

She looked to the bar only to see a man wearing a long black trench coat and what appeared to be a bullet-proof vest leaning up against the counter. There was a person on either side of him but they didn't' seem to notice that he stuck out like a sore thumb. He peered at her from behind his sunglasses and she stared back.

A group of four or five people walked between Blade and the girl and as soon as they had past… Blade was gone and all that was left in his place was an empty barstool spinning slowly on its support.

The girl pushed through the crowd trying to look for him but when she reached the bar he was nowhere to be seen. She stood there for a long time, unsure of what had just taken place and completely oblivious to the fact that she had almost died and that the strange man at the bar saved her life.

Deacon, meanwhile, was irate. He grabbed Quinn and Mercury and quickly left the club. His enemy was catching up to him, his meal was still in the club, alive and healthy, and his art was ruined.


End file.
